


Forgive All My Sins; Show Me No Mercy

by Ode_to_ships



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fantasy, Fluff, Lots of Angst, Maybe - Freeform, Smut, Stydia, but there is a happy ending, sad but itll get better, stiles is dark in this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-01-07 01:10:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12222687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ode_to_ships/pseuds/Ode_to_ships
Summary: "8 year old Stiles Stilinski is sitting at his kitchen table on the day of his mother’s funeral. The day a darkness settles around his heart and starts to grow. The sun is coming in through the window, and it’s almost like it’s trying to burn out the darkness, the anger, the hate, but it can’t. Stiles doesn’t feel it.“Stiles come on. It’s time to go, kiddo,” his dad says gently, touching him on the arm. He gets up, and they leave for the cemetery.Walking into the cemetery, Stiles feels the darkness begin to engulf his young heart. As terrified as he is of it, he clings to it all the same. Hoping that maybe, it'll help things not hurt so much."





	1. Tenebris Umbra and The Girl With Fire Hair

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a bit darker than I've done before, and will be in chapters. Hopefully y'all like it because I'm going to keep posting them anyway sooo...
> 
> Thank you all for reading.
> 
> To my girls; Allison, Sydney, Lori, Sarah, Janey, and Cathy,  
> You are all amazing and I love you all and this is more for y'all than for anyone else.
> 
> And also Rachel (stydiadetectives on tumblr) because she's amazing and I hope she likes this a lot.

There’s a light coming in through the window. It’s bright, too bright. _“The sun”_ he thinks to himself. _“You know the sun. A giant burning ball of gas that we rotate around. It takes 356 days to do it, and it keeps everything on the planet alive. Except..”_ he doesn't finish that thought, at least, he tries not to. _“Keeps everything alive except my mother”,_ it feels good to think that.

 

At 8 years old he has a solid understanding of most things that adults deem “inappropriate for children”. He knows what it means when adults say “adult playtime”. He gets it when they talk about how the world is going to shit. He knows that when they spell F-U-C-K, they’re spelling fuck, which is a swear word he isn't supposed to say. He and Scott heard it one night when Scott’s mom was on the phone with his dad, and she said “I don’t give a fuck, Rafael. I need that money.” They had looked it up, and Scott swore he would never say it, but Stiles found himself saying it once or twice. Recently he’s said it 5 more times.

 

He knows that when adults tell you to go to your room, they’re talking about you. He knew that when his doctor said that he had some trouble concentrating it really meant he was a hyperactive little shit, but his doctor was too nice to say so. He gets it.

 

He doesn’t get why his mother developed a sickness that affects only 60,000 people a year in the United States. He looked it up and did the math. 323 million people living in America. That’s 1 in 5,383 people. There are less people living in Beacon Hills. His mother had to be the 1. He doesn’t understand at age 8 that those odds, aren’t as bad as he thinks.

 

The biggest kicker, in his opinion, is that in order for it to affect people younger than 45, you have to be real special. Apparently his mother was real special.

 

 _“Thanks a lot sun. You goddamned waste,”_ he thinks. Another fun word he learned, but he hasn’t told Scott about it. Scott wouldn’t want to know.

 

Logically he knows the sun isn’t to blame, but he has to blame somebody. He has to. Because it’s not fair. It’s _not fair_ that his mom had to die.

 

 _“Why couldn’t Scott’s mom die?”_ And that’s a thought that makes him want to throw up, but brings a weird sense of relief. It eases the anger a little bit. He’s thinking about all the people who deserve to be without their parents more than him. He relishes in it. Because it somehow justifies his anger. It fuels his desire to hate, and to kick, and to scream at the world and all the people who let his mother be taken away from him.

 

He doesn’t think about Scott’s mom dying again because he knows that somehow, that would be cosmically wrong. And if there’s one person who he doesn’t want bad things to happen to, it’s Scott. Scott and his dad.

 

8 year old Stiles Stilinski is sitting at his kitchen table on the day of his mother’s funeral. The day a darkness settles around his heart and starts to grow. The sun is coming in through the window, and it’s almost like it’s trying to burn out the darkness, the anger, the hate, but it can’t. Stiles doesn’t feel it.

 

“Stiles come on. It’s time to go, kiddo,” his dad says gently, touching him on the arm. He gets up, and they leave for the cemetery.

 

Walking into the cemetery, Stiles feels the darkness begin to engulf his young heart. As terrified as he is of it, he clings to it all the same. Hoping that maybe, it'll help things not hurt so much.

  
  


__

  


It helps. It helps him so much he’s swept away by how good he feels when he indulges in it. When he lets it in, and lets it take control. It’s a monster that hides away in his heart. It feeds on him, and he feeds on it. He lets it take him places.

 

The first time was when he was 13, just 13 years old. He woke up to a whispering in his ear, a gentle caress against his cheek. He felt no fear at the touch. It was warm and inviting and it made him feel whole.

 

“It’s time, Stiles,” it said to him.

 

Coming out of sleep was hard, which was unusual. He hadn’t slept that well since before his mother had died. When he aroused, there was no one there. Any other 13 year old would’ve felt a heavy bout of terror, but not Stiles.

 

“Who are you?” He whispered into the emptiness of his room.

 

“A friend.”

 

“If you’re my friend, why don’t you show yourself?” he asked.

 

“I am not a corporeal being, Stiles.”

 

“You know my name.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Tell me what you want,” he demanded.

 

“I am an intrinsic part of you. We are intertwined you and I. I will use you when I need you, and when you call upon me, I shall lend my services to you. I will keep you safe. I will keep away the pain, and the hurt. But you shall do my bidding, Stiles.”

 

“How do I call upon you?”

 

“You give yourself so willingly, that’s good,” and Stiles felt a slight rumble echo throughout the room. The- The Shadow, was laughing. “All you must do, is say the words _“Tenebris Umbra”_ and I shall appear.”

 

“How will I know you are coming?” Stiles could feel himself shaking. Some part of him knew that this was a bad idea. There were warning signs flashing in his head. There were sirens going off, telling him over and over not to agree.

 

But they were intertwined, The Shadow said so. He didn’t have a choice. If he was being really honest with himself, the idea of no more pain, was _intoxicating_. He wanted to feel nothing.

 

Wrong. He wanted to feel powerful.

 

“You will know I’m coming by the slight constriction in your chest.”

 

“That sounds painful,” he snarks.

 

“There’s some discomfort, but nothing you can’t handle,” and he felt the constriction start and end in the span of 3 seconds. It felt like a loss of breath, and then it was over. “Go to the mirror, Stiles.”

 

Stiles went. Looking in the mirror he didn’t notice anything out of order. He didn’t look different at all. And then he caught his own eyes in the mirror. They were a pale white.

 

“What did you do to my eyes?” He asked, still calm. His eyes were interesting, but what he was focused on was the intense amount of energy he could feel flowing through his entire body, like a live wire. He didn’t give a shit about his eyes if he was going to get to feel like this.

 

“Don’t you worry about that,” The Shadow said.

 

Stiles didn't worry.

 

That night he and The Shadow went out, and built the altar that Stiles would come to visit every Sunday night, like he was going to church.

 

The altar for Tenebris Umbra, Dark Shadow, or The Shadow as Stiles would always refer to him.

 

When he got home that night, he bid The Shadow goodbye, and went to sleep.

 

In his dreams he met a red headed girl with crystal green eyes, and a smile that burned away all that was dark about him.

 

She would visit his dreams over and over, and much to her delight, The Shadow could not reach them there.

  
  


_10 years later_

  


“Scott you can ask me 30 more times, and the answer is still going to be no. I can’t come and visit you right now,” Stiles could feel his frustration building, and he was trying to keep it in check. Scott didn’t know that Stiles had a endeavor to go on with The Shadow, and Stiles was absolutely not going to tell him.

 

“Stiles, everyone has gotten out of Beacon Hills and you haven’t. Please come and visit me,” Scott pleaded, an edge to his voice. Stiles was suddenly hit with the impression that Scott was a lot more intuitive that he had ever given his best friend credit for.

 

 _“Oportet autem illum occidere”_ he heard the whisper pass through the back of his mind.

 

“ _No. We aren’t killing him. You promised me.”_

 

The voice went silent.

 

“I know, Scotty, I know. How about next week?” He offered, trying to appease his best friend.

 

The line was silent for a few seconds, and he knew Scott was trying to regain his patience just as Stiles was.

 

“Yeah. Yeah okay, sure. Next week,” Scott said, indifferent.

 

“Thanks dude. Alright I gotta go. I’ll talk to you later.”

 

“Talk to you later.” And the line went dead.

 

There was a pang of guilt in his chest. He knew Scott meant well, but there some things Stiles would never be able to leave behind. Following up the pang, came a slight constriction in his chest, and he knew that the voice was now The Shadow in full.

 

“It’s time Stiles. You have to leave now,” The Shadow said.

 

“I’m going,” Stiles muttered.

 

20 minutes later, Stiles was at the altar. He knelt down in front of it, taking his place. As always, he felt that familiar tug on his subconscious telling him that this was inherently and completely _wrong_. It was an abomination of all that his mother had instilled in him. But wasn’t she the one that got him here in the first place? She died. She left him here on this Earth, twisted up in pain. At 8 years old he had no understanding of how deep The Shadow would take him.

 

Stiles guessed The Shadow was betting on that.

 

And at 13 years old, being angry and confused and heartbroken at and with the world, opened a door inside his heart, and he let The Shadow in. He didn’t understand that he was letting a demon into his heart.

 

Stiles also guessed that The Shadow knew that as well, and exploited his weakness once again.

 

And even now, as he’s kneeling in front of this altar he built at 13, he knows that this isn’t right. He knows that he has become a monster as sure as one lives inside of him. The things he’s done, albeit as a vessel to The Shadow, are abhorrent. If there is a hell, Stiles is going.

 

He knows this, but he cannot change it. He owes The Shadow his life, and he cannot turn back. There is no back. There is only now, and moving forward.

 

So that's what he does.

 

“Dominus obumbratio. Et flamma ignis vestri belli,” he murmurs over and over. The prayer is different every time, depending on what The Shadow means to accomplish on any given night.

 

Stiles can feel himself igniting. This is vastly different to when The Shadow comes and makes his presence known. This is complete take over. A molding of energies. He can feel the fire moving through his bloodstream. It rips into his bones, and his muscles. He feels saliva flood his mouth; the hunger he feels burning out all conscious thought. It’s searing out the neurons in his brain that are trying to reject the invader.

 

Suddenly he is no longer Stiles. He is The Shadow. He is Tenebris Umbra. They are one in the same. What is left of Stiles in his mind is as bloodthirsty as The Shadow. He wants to kill. He wants to feel the exuberance that flows through his veins when he and The Shadow decimate the people that anger them, that betray them, that stand in their way of achieving absolute power.

 

They are called Mortem, and that is just what they are.

 

Death.

 

That night, they slaughter a coven of witches who pray to the Archangel of Love, Sophia. The witches intervened in a matter that The Shadow deemed of high importance.

 

Stiles doesn’t even register why the name Sophia sounds familiar to him.

 

The last words uttered by the coven leader, didn't register with Stiles either, for The Shadow was him, and he was The Shadow.

 

“Lydia. Lydia is coming, and she will save us all.”

 

The girl from Stiles’s dreams.

 

But The Shadow could not enter there.

 

“You tell Sophia hello for me. Tell her _I_ am coming, and when I do, _mortem ad omnes,_ ” their voice is like brakes grinding in the snow. Like nails running down a chalkboard.

 

“Death unto all,” the coven leader whispered, her eyes wide.

 

The Shadow struck her down, and didn’t pay any attention to the slight pang that went up through his brain, trying to tell him that the name Lydia was important.

  
  


_____

  


When Stiles gets home, he is alone in his thoughts. The Shadow is blissfully quiet, having gone to pursue other such dealings that do not require Stiles’ assistance.

 

He can’t help but feel a strong sense of relief. Coming out of a possession has always left him sick, and shaking. His body aches, and his heart hurts, like it doesn’t want to continue pumping blood throughout his body if he’s going to keep giving his body over to a monster.

 

Stiles can feel his soul, warped and damaged inside him somewhere. And he thinks, not for the first time, that he wishes he would’ve died 15 years ago, instead of his mother.

 

He dashes the thought because his thoughts are not his own, and The Shadow can find no trace of doubt in Stiles’ mind, or there will be punishment.

 

 _“You are committed to our cause Stiles! You are mine!”_ He remembers The Shadow screaming. The Shadow had constricted his chest so hard, Stiles thought a few of his ribs were cracking. He was 14 years old, and had just gotten back from visiting his mother’s grave. The girl with Fire hair had told him in a dream the previous night, that his mother loved him and missed him.

 

The Shadow had no sympathy, and Stiles never asked questions again.

 

But the girl with Fire hair was still his secret, and his secret alone.

 

Walking into his apartment, Stiles heads straight for his bedroom, kicking off his shoes as he goes. When he reaches his room, he flops onto his bed and falls asleep instantly.

 

________

 

_“If you’re going to sleep the whole time, I’m going to leave,” he hears a voice say. Her voice is like water running over rocks, it gives him comfort. It eases the throbbing in his body, heart, and soul._

 

_“Has anyone ever told you that you’re impatient?” He replies._

 

_“Multiple times. It hasn’t changed anything,” she says through a laugh._

 

_“What if you just lay down, and sleep with me?” He knows she’s going to say no, but he has to ask anyway. There’s a tugging in his body that tells him he wants to wrap his arms around this girl, and get lost in her scent and the feel of her pressed against him._

 

_“You ask me that every time, and I always tell you no.”_

 

_“500th times the charm right?” He says, finally lifting his head to look at her. She’s sitting on his desk chair, too far away from him. Her hair is fire, it is every time. She’s in the same cream colored dress she’s in every time, the one she has been wearing since she started appearing 10 years ago._

 

_When they were 14 he had asked her about the dress, and why after many nights, and many dreams, she never changed, she simply said “This is how Sophia wants me to dress when I visit you,” and she said no more about it._

 

_The dress has changed and modified a little bit to fit the fact that she is now a grown woman. It reaches mid thigh, and covers her arms and the collar covers all of her neck. She’s in white flats, and when they stand next to each other, she barely reaches his shoulder._

 

_She’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. That has not changed in 10 years._

 

_“501 times the charm,” she shoots back, and he laughs. She feeds him the next number every time he asks._

 

_“Alright Lydia. I’ll ask tomorrow then,” he lays back down and closes his eyes._

 

_“Stiles,” she says gently. She’s standing next to his bed now, and he can hear in her voice that she is sad. That this visit is about what he had done only a few hours earlier._

 

_“Lydia..” he says warily, still not looking at her._

 

_“Stiles, look at me.”_

 

_“So I can see the disappointment and sadness? No thank you,” he’s always been shit at facing other people’s pain. The Shadow taught him to ignore it. He can’t with Lydia._

 

_“You will face this, Stiles. Look. At. Me.” And he knows, that just for a second, it isn’t Lydia talking. It’s Sophia. She has reached into his dream. She’s only done it 3 times before._

 

_He looks at Lydia because he would be a fool to ignore Sophia, Archangel of Love or not._

 

_“What you did tonight..,” She pauses, and Stiles is shocked. He has rendered The Mother of Love speechless. “I thought sending Lydia through dreams would reach a place inside you that could not be reached physically, but I was wrong. 10 years have passed, and I have been too forgiving of your crimes with the demon you hold inside of you,” her voice rings out like a thousand church bells, and Stiles is afraid._

 

_“Mother, I don’t- I didn’t have a choice. I cannot discern between the two of us when he is in control.”_

 

_“But you crave the power, the exhilaration the demon gets from killing, do you not?” She demands._

 

_“I don’t know. I don’t know! I used to. I do not want the same things I did so long ago, Mother,” he pleads._

 

 _“You slaughtered innocent women tonight._ MY INNOCENT WOMEN _! You have killed before, but you have killed the demons and followers of Tenebris Umbra’s realm. You dare come into my territory and slaughter_ MY _innocents?” She isn’t shouting, she doesn’t have to. Stiles can feel it in his mind, reverberating like an echo that never ends. It’s agony. And he knows that his is what he deserves. He gives himself willing._

 

_“I do not know what to do, Mother. I am- I am a slave to him. He saved my life. I cannot- burn him out,” there is humility in his voice, but he doesn’t think that can save him now._

 

 _“You, Stiles Stilinski, do not see the value in your own life. You do not understand why it is such an abomination that you have let this demon into your heart and soul. I shall show you. I shall_ save _you,” Her voice is no longer an echo, it is a breeze that rustles leaves when you are laying in your backyard on a warm summer day._

 

_“Please, please Mother. He is coming for you. He will come and I will come with him. Mortem ad omnes.”_

 

_“Death unto all. We shall see.” And then she is gone, and it’s Lydia who stands before his shaking, sobbing form._

 

_“The Mother is tough, but she kind,” Lydia says gently, her arms going around him._

 

_“I wish she would kill me,” is all he can get out through the sobs wracking his body._

 

_“That would be a waste. You are worth saving, Stiles. The Mother can see that,” she murmurs against his ear. He is clutching onto her._

 

_“Can you?” He asks when he calms down enough to talk._

 

_She is quiet for a moment, and Stiles thinks he knows the answer._

 

_“At first no. At first I thought you were a monster that I had to face in order to prove my love and loyalty for The Mother. But I was blind, and focused on myself. I did not see. But now, now I can see it. You have the heart your own mother gave you, Stiles. It’s not gone. We will save you,” she says the last part with such vehemence that Stiles wants to believe her._

 

_“What if I don’t want to be saved?”_

 

_“You would have cast me out long ago. There’s a part of you that wants to be free of the demon. Remember that when you can’t see past the monster in the mirror.”_

 

_“My mom always told me that there is always an internal struggle to do the right thing versus the easy thing. She told me she knew I would always do the right thing. When she died I was- I was in so much pain. I couldn’t see through the overwhelming grief that just clouded everything. I let The Shadow in because he took it away. He cleared my body of grief, and at 8 years old, that was all I wanted, to stop being in pain. But since then, I haven’t cast him out. My mom, if she’s been watching me all these years, must’ve turned away in disgust,” he chokes out, feeling defeated._

 

_“Oh Stiles,” Lydia sighs._

 

_And then he wakes up._

  


_______

  


He jolts awake, feeling the familiar constricting sensation.

 

“Your father is going to call and invite you to dinner. You will say no,” The Shadow says, and he sounds almost bored.

 

“I haven’t seen him in weeks. Surely we can spend one night over there with him. It’s just dinner,” he reasons.

 

He can feel The Shadow pondering it. Weighing the pros and cons of going to see Noah Stilinski for dinner.

 

“Fine. We can go see him, but it will be short. There is a ritual I need you to do, and it must be tonight,” and then The Shadow is nothing but a niggling at the back of his mind.

 

Not 5 minutes later, the phone rings and it’s his dad.

 

“Hey dad,” he answers.

 

“Hey kiddo. What’s your day looking like?”

 

 _“Breakfast. A run. Then performing unspeakable acts for the demon I’m possessed by”_ he thinks, and it takes him by surprise. He has never outright expressed any sort of discomfort or disagreement with what The Shadow has him do. He knows The Shadow felt it, and it’s going to be a conversation later if the buzzing in the back of his head is anything to go by.

 

“Uh just the usual. Breakfast, a run, some paperwork for the office. You calling about dinner?” He keeps his tone light, even though the buzzing has gotten louder.

 

“Yeah. I haven’t seen you in awhile. Melissa is making chicken, and I was thinking it’d be nice to see ya,” his dad’s voice sounds tight, like he’s trying to hide something.

 

“Sure dad, 7 okay?” He says through clenched teeth, not even bothering to comment on how much time his dad spends with Melissa, because now the buzzing has turned into a sensation that he can only compare to having needles stabbing at his brain.

 

“ _The brain doesn’t have any nerve endings. The brain doesn’t have any nerve endings. The brain doesn’t have any nerve endings”_ he chants in his head, and for some reason, it beats back the pain, which only serves to piss The Shadow off more.

 

“7 is great. See you then, Stiles.” Stiles hangs up the phone halfway through his dad's goodbye, and lets out a scream.

 

“You don’t like what we do, huh? Not a fan of the power I give you?!” The Shadow is screaming, screaming and slicing through his brain. And Stiles firmly believes in this very moment that The Shadow has specifically put nerve endings on his brain, just to torture him.

 

“I-I’m sorry!” He screams. He’s just screaming through the agony.

 

“You forget who you belong to. You forget the promise you made. You forget. I shall remind you.”

 

The pain intensifies, and Stiles can’t believe it. He’s writhing on the floor, and he can feel foam coming from his mouth, choking off the never ending scream that his body is trying to use to propel the pain out, away from him. But his body is letting him down again, because the pain isn’t ending. And it’s just enough to keep him in agony, but not enough for him to pass out.

 

“KILL ME! KILL ME! KILL ME!”  He manages to choke out, “PLEASE!”

 

“Oh I will. But not yet. Your insolence will be the end of your life, Stiles. But not yet. First you will suffer, then you will serve me, and then you shall die,” The Shadow is laughing.

 

Finally, _finally_ , the pain ends. When it does, Stiles passes out.

  


___

  


When he comes to 2 hours later, he’s blissfully alone. The Shadow has receded, and is either off dealing with prep for the ritual tonight, or he’s as worn out as Stiles is, though for very different reasons.

 

He gets up off the floor, and heads to the bathroom. He reaches the sink, and grasps on to it because his legs decide they don’t want to work anymore. He manages to steady himself, and then turns on the sink. He splashes some water on his face, and the coolness of it feels heavenly against his skin, which is burning.

 

Stiles takes a long look in the mirror, one of the longest he’s taken in a long time.

 

_When you can’t see past the monster in the mirror_

 

And he can’t. He can’t see the heart his mother gave him, the spirit, the soul. He can only see empty eyes, that sit inside a carcass of a human. He feels hollowed out, like all of his muscles, and his bones, and his blood have been emptied out onto the floor where they lay drying up, just like his body is drying up.

 

He is wasting away.

 

_If she’s been watching me all these years, she must’ve turned away in disgust_

 

It’s true. He can feel it in his dead heart, that his mother has turned away from him. She turned away the day he let The Shadow in. She saw what he let happen to himself, and she left him to fend for himself. And it’s fitting.

 

And it’s bitter.

 

_I will come when you call and I will offer my services. I will keep you safe. I will take away the pain, and the hurt_

 

What a beautiful lie to tell a 13 year old boy who is lost in the world. A boy who cannot understand why, after 5 years, his mother’s death still hurt as though it had happened yesterday.

 

But at 13 we do not understand grief, and how it crashes over us in waves. At 30 we do not understand why we still cry when we smell our loved ones smell long after they have passed on. We has humans cannot understand our grief.

 

But young Stiles, young Stiles was a fool.

 

“ _People grieve everyday, and they aren’t as weak as you”_ he thinks to himself.

 

Before he can think about what he’s doing, he punches the mirror, cracking it and the skin on his knuckles, and it feels so good to have physical pain that he’s caused himself, he starts laughing. It’s hysterical laughing. The kind that generally signifies when someone has lost their mind. Maybe he has, but soon he’s sobbing. Horrible wracking sobs, that leave him choking on air.

 

“I’m sorry mom. I am so so sorry. I never meant to disappoint you this way. I never meant to become this. But losing you- losing you-I couldn’t do it on my own. I know I had dad, but it wasn’t the same. I failed him and you,” he sobs to no one. Because she has turned away. He knows she has.

 

He sits on the floor for a long time, his paperwork and his run forgotten. The Shadow doesn't come back until he’s getting ready to head out for dinner at his dad’s house.

  


______

  


It isn’t his dad who answers the door, it’s Scott. Stiles suddenly understands why his dad’s voice sounded so tight on the phone earlier. Stiles immediately hides his hand, the one that’s wrapped in bandages, behind his back. If anyone is going to notice it, it’ll be Scott, and Stiles doesn’t feel much like explaining.

 

“Scott,” he says, and he realizes how much he’s missed his best friend.

 

“I had to come. I had to make sure you were okay, dude.”

 

And then they’re hugging, and Stiles isn’t sure which one of them initiated it. It doesn’t matter. His hand be damned.

 

“It’s so good to see you,” he mumbles into Scott’s shirt.

 

“You too,” Scott says back, sounding a little choked up.   

 

They stand there hugging for another 2 minutes before they finally break apart.

 

“Is that my son?” Stiles hears his dad call, and then he’s walking into the foyer. Again, Stiles is hit with how much he’s missed his family. His dad walks up to him, a smile plastered to his face, and pulls Stiles in for a hug.

 

He lets himself get lost in his dad’s smell, the only thing that gave him comfort when he was younger. It’s woodsy, and has a hint of aftershave. It’s home. He grips his dad tightly, and suddenly Stiles is the one choking up.

 

When they pull away, Stiles has some tears sitting on the edge of his eyes, and he’s surprised to see, so does his dad.

 

“Alright come on now. It hasn’t been that long,” His dad says around the thickness in his own throat. He pats Stiles on the arm.

 

“I know dad, I know. I’ve just been having a hard time at work lately, and I haven’t been sleeping, so seeing you guys just kinda..” He trails off, not sure how to verbalize how he's feeling.

 

 _“Humans are so weak.”_ He hears The Shadow whisper through the back of his mind. Stiles finds himself agreeing.

 

“Well you’re here now. I knew you wouldn’t miss it,” His dad smiles at him again, and they all head towards the dining room, where dinner is ready, and it feels faintly like it used to 15 years ago.

  


_______

  
  


After dinner, Stiles is cleaning up in the kitchen. Melissa had been hesitant to let him due to his hand, but he explain it was okay, and it wasn’t bothering him that much. He wanted to help.

 

Really though, The Shadow wanted him to be alone so he could instruct him on what needed to happen before the ritual tonight.

 

It was simple. Once he left the house, he was to go back to his apartment, grab his bag that had the materials needed in it, and then go to the alter.

 

The Shadow would not tell Stiles what it was that the ritual consisted of, and that made him nervous. But in the interest of not having his brain explode inside his head again, Stiles dashed the feeling as soon as it came.

 

After he had finished cleaning up, he went out into living room to say goodbye. He had a feeling he wouldn’t be seeing his family again for quite some time.

 

“Alright guys, I have to get going,” he said, trying for cheerful disappointment.

 

“Hang on kiddo. I wanna talk to you for a minute.”

 

“ _Tell him no. We need to be going. Now.”_

 

 _“If you don’t want him suspicious, then we need to stay and hear this,”_ he thought at The Shadow, who thankfully accepted that response, and receded.

 

“What’s up dad?” There was the fake cheerful again.

 

“I just wanted to tell you that.. you always have a home here, son. I think you forget that sometimes. But you do. If you’re struggling a little bit, let us help. We want to help,” he says sincerely.

 

“I know dad. I’m sorry I haven’t been around much. It’s not that I don’t.. want to be here,” he stumbles over the words.

 

“I get it, Stiles. I do. Just remember where you come from okay?” His dad says, not unkindly. Stiles can hear the love laced in his dad’s voice. It makes him sad.

 

“I won’t dad.” But he had already. The Shadow had taken that away from him.

 

Saying goodbye to Melissa was easy. She hugged him and told him to stop by anytime. She didn’t offer any speeches, and Stiles was immensely grateful for that.

 

“You’re gonna come and visit me at some point. I’m going to make you,” Scott says, and Stiles knows he isn’t joking.

 

“ _Ut primum autem eum occidere.”_ The words are laced with such violence and hatred, that it nearly has Stiles staggering as he and Scott are walking towards the door.

 

Stiles doesn’t bother to answer. It wouldn’t be wise to try and argue right now; not with Scott so close, and The Shadow so angry.

 

“Of course I’ll come and visit you, Scotty,” He says more to appease his best friend, than out of actual truth.

 

Scott sees through it though. He always does. “You’re a shit liar, Stiles,” is all he says, and then they’re at the front door. But before Stiles can walk through it, he turns to Scott and says:

 

“Scott I want to visit you. I want to,” he says vehemently, willing his best friend to understand. Scott looks at him for minute, and then nods his head, seeming to take the hint.

 

He doesn’t want to get Scott involved, in fact he’d rather never see Scott again that to get him involved, but desperation does strange things to people. Stiles isn’t sure he could deal with it, if Scott thought that he hated him. But he’d take that over Scott ever finding out about what Stiles has become.

 

Stiles turns and walks down the hall because he has nothing more to say, and he knows that Scott doesn’t either. His heart feels heavy, and he can feel the same sort of sadness and desire he felt at 13. It’s dangerous, and reckless, but he clings to that. He clings to it because it’s the only thing that’s going to get him through the ritual.

 

Stiles starts the process of convincing himself _why_ he must do The Shadow’s bidding.

 

 _“I can’t do this alone. I know I can’t. I don’t know how I ever thought I was better off without The Shadow, how I could possibly live without him. I need him, just as he needs me,”_ Stiles thinks to himself, and just as he finishes the thought, the familiar constricting feeling comes up strong and intense.

 

 _“You know you need me. You will never question me again.”_ The thought reverberates through his mind, echoing and slicing into his skin, somehow.

 

“I know. I know that now. I will never question you again,” he says out loud, not bothering to pay attention to the looks he get while he’s walking to his jeep.

 

_“Tonight I want you to do something special.”_

 

“Anything,” he murmurs climbing into the jeep. It’s cold despite being early fall. He feels empty, and hollow. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows that this is not all of his own doing. The Shadow is exacerbating his sadness, but he doesn’t register the thought. All he knows is the emptiness, and fire he knows he will feel when he lets The Shadow take over his body.

 

_“You are going to call that pretty, redheaded, temptress to Beacon Hills. Once she is here, you will gain her trust, and find out where Sophia is hiding, and when we find Sophia, you will kill Lydia, and then you will kill Sophia.”_

 

The panic is immediate and overwhelming. He doesn’t attempt to hide it because it would be pointless. The Shadow can feel it.

 

 _“You care for her.”_ Stiles can hear the laughter in The Shadow’s laugh.

 

“I wasn’t aware you knew-” but he’s cut off by The Shadow manifesting in his jeep while he’s driving.

 

“You weren’t aware I knew about her? Yes I thought so.” The laughter is still evident in The Shadow’s voice, and Stiles suddenly feels incredibly violated.

 

“You looked through my head after I passed out this morning,” he states.

 

“I did. You are mine, and I don’t like secrets. Lucky for you, this secret was just important enough that I decided not to kill you for it.”

 

The nausea hits Stiles like a train.

 

“You want me to call Lydia here? Do we need to? Can’t we find Sophia without her?” he can hear the desperation in his voice, and he wishes to God that he could mask it better, but God is definitely laughing at him.

 

“Mmmm, perhaps we don’t need to, but we are going to. Because you love her, and I will watch you suffer.”

 

Stiles earlier compliance has vanished. He feels a fire low in his belly, being stoked by the thought of calling Lydia here in corporeal form, only to hurt her. He isn’t sure he can stomach it.

 

“I won’t do it. I won’t hurt her,” he growls vehemently. His defiance could get him killed, and he doesn’t care. He’d rather die than hurt Lydia.

 

Suddenly he feels the creep of ice in his veins, the constriction in his chest, followed by the familiar fire that burns out all that is himself, and he knows he is not himself.

 

“Oh you will. Come Stiles, it is time to call Lydia.” And before Stiles is lost to The Shadow, he screams out “NO!”

 

There is no one to hear him.

 

________

  


_Boston, Massachusetts_

 

Lydia lays asleep in her bed, dreaming of a boy across the country with brown hair and whiskey eyes.

 

“Come to me, Lydia. Come to me,” he whispers against her neck. It feels wrong, all wrong. They haven’t ever embraced this way. She knows this isn’t Stiles. His eyes are wrong, and his smile whispers of dark things, but she can’t pin down what’s wrong with them. So she nuzzles closer and promises that she will come.

 

The next morning, Lydia gets on a plane, and flies to Beacon Hills where Mortem awaits her patiently.

 


	2. The Dark, The Light, The Way They Intertwine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Lydia was a curious girl. Curious and intelligent, a deadly combination she had been told over and over again. 
> 
> “Be careful Lydia. With a mind like yours, and curiosity like George, you could find yourself in a lot of trouble,” her mother would tell her. She paid her mother no mind. If she was so smart, she was smart enough not to find trouble. And Curious George was a fictitious monkey, and Lydia Martin was no monkey. 
> 
> She was a girl, with fire hair. And green eyes that she liked to pretend could pierce through, and see people at their heart and soul. Sometimes she really believed that she could."
> 
> Lydia and how she managed to stumble into Stiles' life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow you guys. So this hasn't gotten the reception I hoped it would, but for those that have read and left comments, thank you and I love you. This chapter was a long time coming, and I know it's been a long time. Thanks for being patient!

Lydia woke up on a Thursday in September knowing that she was going to be saying goodbye to her apartment in Boston for the last time. She wouldn’t be coming back here. Not to this apartment, maybe not even to Boston.

 

Dread didn’t really cover the pit that had settled in her stomach overnight. It was a sense of an ending somehow. Like there was an ending coming, and she couldn’t place if it was hers, or if it was someone else’s. A boy perhaps. One that she dreamed about every night.

 

The thought that it might be him caused her stomach to roll, and she found herself in the bathroom, throwing up yesterday’s dinner. It was strange and unprecedented, the way she felt about a boy she had never actually met.

 

But she knew Stiles. She knew him better than she knew herself. She had grown up with him, and watched him become the man that he is. And despite the fact that he had a demon attached to him, she knew there was inherent goodness in him.

 

He had started off as an assignment, someone she was supposed to guide back into the light, and into the embracing arms of The Mother, Sophia.

 

She was 8 years old when she realized what love truly was, how dark it can be.

 

She was 13 years old when she learned that love was the most powerful force in the world, though she didn’t fully believe.

 

 

_______

 

 

_15 years earlier_

Lydia was a curious girl. Curious and intelligent, a deadly combination she had been told over and over again.

 

“Be careful Lydia. With a mind like yours, and curiosity like George, you could find yourself in a lot of trouble,” her mother would tell her. She paid her mother no mind. If she was so smart, she was smart enough not to find trouble. And Curious George was a fictitious monkey, and Lydia Martin was no monkey.

 

She was a girl, with fire hair. And green eyes that she liked to pretend could pierce through, and see people at their heart and soul. Sometimes she really believed that she could.

 

Like when her mother told her that everything was fine when Lydia caught her putting one too many Xanax into her mouth.

 

“It’s nothing to worry about, Lydia. I just need a little extra help today,” her mother would croon, and she would smile. Lydia knew better though. She could sense it on her mother, the lie. The desire to escape a life without love, and a daughter who rarely ever talked.

Natalie Martin did not want the life she had, and Lydia knew it.

 

Then there was the time she heard her father talking on the phone to a woman she knew wasn’t her mother. Daddy never said crude things like that to her mother. Lydia learned the word “whore” that day, and what it means to “buy love” for an hour.

 

Johnathan Martin was a man without morals. And Lydia could tell, with her piercing green eyes, that her father’s heart had rotted away, and there was no more love to give to anyone.

 

The outer appearance of their family was a well put one. No one ever suspected anything, and Lydia never talked, so there was no worry that she was going to tell anyone that her mother was popping pills, and her father was fucking women on the side.

 

One might think that all this would irrevocably change Lydia. That she would grow up damaged, and heartbroken, with an inability to trust that stretched so far, no one dared tried to gain it.

 

But she didn’t. She was a forgiving girl. However, love was territory she deemed uncrossable. It was dead land to Lydia.

 

But she had such a keen understanding of humanity, and the world, that she never allowed her family life to dissuade her from being whoever it was she was meant to be.

 

And at 8 years old, she knew who she was meant to be. She was meant to be the world’s greatest mathematician since Einstein, maybe even better. She was meant to change the world of math and science.

 

She was wrong. And at 13 years old, with a dream in place, Lydia learned what her calling was.

 

To save a boy named Stiles Stilinski.

 

______

 

_10 years earlier_

 

 

It was the middle of the summer, and in Boston, the summers are warm and muggy. Lydia loved them. Despite it being summer, it was a cool night, so her windows were open. She was sprawled on her bed, enjoying the peace and quiet. Mother was asleep, and father, father wasn’t home.

 

There was a calm in the air that Lydia reveled in, and without even knowing, she fell asleep.

 

“Lydia. Lydia, my child, open your eyes,” the voice said, serene and water like. It washed over Lydia, and slowly she opened her eyes.

 

“Where am I?” she asked, as she took in her surroundings. There was nothing, just never-ending whiteness.

 

“You are safe, child. Do not be afraid,” the voice said again, in the same soft tone.

 

“People who say don’t be afraid are usually the scariest,” Lydia retorted, “And anyways, this is a dream, why would I be afraid?”

 

The voice made a musical sound that Lydia realized, was laughter.

 

“Oh, sweet child, you are so smart. Very well, I shall tell you who I am.”

 

The air in front of Lydia began to shift, and soon a woman appeared out of thin air. She was tall, and elegant. She was the kind of beautiful Lydia always wanted to be. She had pale white hair, striking golden eyes, and a complexion so fair, she looked as though she was made of marble. Donned in all white robes, she was the most beautiful being Lydia had ever seen.

 

“I am Sophia, the Archangel of Love. I serve God in Heaven, but I reside in my own realm where I watch over those that need it most.”

 

“So, you’re essentially the ultimate guardian angel?”

 

“In a way, yes,” Sophia came and sat next to Lydia, who tensed immediately at being so near someone who was so powerful.

 

“I’m not sure what to make of this. I’m not sure I believe you’re real. This-this is just a dream,” Lydia reminded herself, trying to calm her rising panic.

 

“I am real, just as you are. It may be a dream, but that does not lessen the reality of this. And as for what to make of it, make of it what you will. I am here because I have a task for you,” Sophia replied, gently.

 

“A task? But I just met you. How could you possibly ask anything of me?” Lydia’s panic was rising.

 

“Calm yourself, Lydia. I am not here to hurt you.”

 

“But you want something from me,” she stated.

 

“Yes.”

 

“What is it?”

 

“There is a boy named Stiles Stilinski who lost his mother when he was 8 years old. He lives across the country from you, in a town named Beacon Hills. Born out of his sadness and loneliness, a darkness took place around his heart, and has now manifested, and been manipulated by a demon. He goes by many names, Tenebris Umbra is one. The Shadow is another, and is what Stiles calls him. His real name, the name of his true self is Khalkaroth, and he serves The God of Chaos, Coor. Stiles and Khalkaroth are intertwined, soul to soul, and only love can save him. This is why I need you.”

 

Lydia’s head was swimming. She wanted to reject all of this, to wake up and pretend it had never happened. To ignore every part of her that was yearning to be of service.

 

She had a plan! A plan she had ingrained so fully into herself, there was never any other option.

 

“Sophia-”she started, “You may call me Mother.”

 

“Okay... Mother, I- I can’t help you with this. This is too big. I’m 13 years old, and I have enough issues to worry about. I don’t want to care about a boy who is 3,000 miles away from me. I don’t want to save him. I want to grow up, move away, and do what I’ve always planned. I have a plan!” she cried hysterically. The understanding and sympathy she saw on Sophia’s face only made her feel worse.

 

“I understand Lydia, and I will not force you. You must choose this.”

 

Lydia thought for a moment, and then asked a question she immediately regretted, “What will happen to him if I choose no?”

 

“He will grow. He will do unspeakable things in the name of Khalkaroth. He will find no love in his life. His friends, his family, all will be driven away. And once he has reached the extent of his usefulness, he will die.”

 

The finality of it made Lydia want to weep, but she wouldn’t. Not here in front of The Mother.

 

“I shouldn’t have asked,” she grumbled, which caused The Mother to laugh, a gentle laugh that conveyed her understanding.

 

“It is your life Lydia. I will not tell you what to do with it.”

 

“Then why ask this of me?”

 

“Because I believe that you are the one who will save him, the only who can save him. But not all battles are won. Some we lose, though we try our hardest. You should not make this decision out of guilt, for you will resent all that it means to save someone. But don’t say no because you are afraid.”

 

“But I am afraid. Of course I’m afraid. You’re telling me that I have to save a boy that I’ve never met, and that if I don’t, he will die. You can tell me that you’re giving me a choice, but you aren’t. Because you know that I am going to do. I am going to save him. I can’t promise I won’t resent him though,” Lydia is slightly out of breath when she finishes, after trying to make sure she got it all out at once. The Mother may be kind, but Lydia could tell she took no disrespect.

 

“If you don’t want to do this, Lydia, you do not have to. I will make you an offer; if you really, in your heart of hearts do not want to do this, I will take away all memory of our encounter, and I shall never bother your dreams again. However, if you do want to do this, I will give you an out. I will not make you endure something that you cannot.”

 

Lydia sat there, staring at The Mother, contemplating all her options. The rational part of her brain was trying to make sense of it all, was trying to reject all of this and wake herself up.

 

But she could not deny the reality, and the draw she had to the task The Mother had given her.

 

“I’ll do it, or at the very least, I’ll try,” Lydia murmured.

 

“You are brave, child. Thank you.” And with that, Lydia found herself inside another dream, one that was darker, and had an essence of fear.

 

“This must be Stiles’ dream. Way to throw me right into it,” she whispered to herself, and just as soon as she finished, she heard a voice.

 

“Who are you?”

 

Lydia turned to see a boy, 13 years old just like her with shaggy brown hair, lanky limbs, and whiskey eyes. He was wearing a baggy t-shirt with Bob Dylan on it, and black pants that were entirely too big for him.

 

“I’m Lydia, and you’re Stiles,” Lydia retorted, like it was obvious.

 

“Why are you in my dream? I’ve never seen you before. You shouldn’t be here, he could find you,” Stiles fired off in rapid succession, and Lydia realized that Stiles had no idea that Lydia was coming, that she was here to help.

 

“He won’t find us if you come with me. I know a place to hide,” she offered up her hand, even though she really didn’t want to.

 

“I don’t know you. And The Shadow says I shouldn’t trust anyone in all white, and to be completely honest, you look like the kind of girl that could ruin my life,” Stiles shoots back. Lydia was surprised. She expected someone who was shy, and soft spoken. But Stiles was none of those things. He seemed to be outgoing, and talkative.

 

Lydia begrudgingly liked that about him.

 

“I’m not going to ruin your life, idiot. I’m going to save it. But fine, stay here. See if I care,” she started to walk the other, knowing full well the boy would call after her. His curiosity was as intense as hers. Which meant that he wanted to know more about her, just as she wanted to know more about him.

 

“Wait!” he called, and she could hear him swear under his breath. She turned her head to the side, mostly to hide her smile, but also to keep an air of mystery to her. “Wait, okay, I’ll go with you. Jesus are all girls this dramatic?”

 

“They are when boys are being dumb. Let’s just go,” she said, rolling her eyes, and walking in the direction she knew she should go. She didn’t know how she knew, it wasn’t even her dream, but she trusted her instinct.

 

She could hear Stiles following behind her, and she could hear his grumbling. It made her smile. She wasn’t sure she liked this boy, he was essentially evil, but there was a charm to him that she couldn’t deny.

 

She reached the door she was looking for, and walked through it with no hesitation.

 

“You’re really just going to walk through a door in a stranger’s dream? Like without any questions? I mean I could have something waiting to kill you behind that door,” Stiles said in a sing-song tone, like he thought he was funny.

 

Lydia turned to face him from the other side of the doorway, and pointedly rolled her eyes at him. “Well you don’t, and even if you did, it wouldn’t hurt you. So, let’s go already,” she snarked back, just as sing-songy as him.

 

He rolled his eyes right back, but proceeded to walk through the door and follow her.

 

“Holy shit,” she heard his whisper, and she understood his surprise. Through the door was a room she assumed was his, but it was stretched out. It seemed bigger, but still the same size a normal bedroom should be. It was brighter, much brighter than the previous dream scape they had been in. There was a familiar smell of pancakes wafting through the air, and the sense of home was overwhelming.

 

The little that Lydia knew about Stiles, explained his surprise and the tears she saw welling up in his eyes. It occurred to her that this might be more harmful for him, than helpful.

 

Why would The Mother send them here?

 

As she was pondering that, Stiles rounded on her.

 

“Why would you bring me here?! What the fuck is all this? Who are you?!” he was hysterical. The tears flowing freely down his face, and Lydia was rooted in surprise and anger.

 

Anger at herself for agreeing to all this. Angry at The Mother for appearing to her and asking this of her. And angry at Stiles for thinking she had any control in here.

 

“I didn’t do this! The Mother did!” she shouted back. Her anger outweighed her reason.

 

“Who the fuck is The Mother?” Stiles yelled. He was pacing back and forth.

 

“Her name is Sophia. She’s a servant of God as the Archangel of Love. She sent me here to save you from the demon you call The Shadow. Because you’re a stupid, sad little boy who needs help. So here I am! I didn’t choose this room. I don’t even know the significance of it! If you hadn’t attached yourself to Khalkaroth or whatever his name is, neither of us would be here,” she spat at him. She was angry, and hurt. And most of all she was scared. She didn’t know this boy. All she knew of him was that he had decided to bind himself to something evil. Who knows what he would do to her, if the demon could hear them in here.

 

“I know who Sophia is,” is all Stiles offered. He had sat down during her speech, and turned away from her.

 

“That’s all you’re going to say?” Lydia demanded.

 

“I am not going to talk to someone who doesn’t understand what I’ve been through. The Mother obviously didn’t educate you on anything. And your parents fucked your people skills. So, I’m going to sit here and wait until I wake up.” His voice was devoid of any emotion, and Lydia guessed he had honed that skill a long time ago.

 

Her anger had deflated completely. He was right. She didn’t know him, or anything about what he had went through. And he didn’t know her. She felt remorse for her words. They were harsh. She had agreed to try and help this boy, and here she was yelling at him and making him feel worse.

 

The Mother said that only love could save Stiles, but Lydia could not ever see herself loving him. Maybe friendship would be enough, and she had promised to try.

 

She took a deep breath, and moved to sit next to him. He didn’t shift or move away, but he didn’t look at her either.

 

“You’re right. I don’t know you. I’m sorry for what I said. I’m scared, and I’ve never done this before. We’re only 13, Stiles.”

 

“I’m sorry for what I said too,” Stiles murmured.

 

They sat in silence for the rest of the night, just soaking up the company that both of them were deprived of.

 

______

 

 

Lydia spent the next 10 years of her life balancing Stiles, and her schooling. It took them sometime, but eventually they found a routine to their nightly hangouts. He still irritated the hell out of her, and she was sure she irritated him, but they kept coming back night after night. She would never admit it out loud, but her nightly meetings with Stiles were the highlight of her otherwise very stressful routine. He made her laugh, talked with her about math, science, movies, music; he talked to her about her family life, and they talked about his. They aired out their demons to each other, and grew into a friendship that they both relied on. He was her breath of fresh air.

 

But he still held on to The Shadow. No matter what she did, or how hard she pushed, Stiles would not let go of The Shadow. Lydia spent countless sleepless nights trying to figure out why she couldn’t save Stiles the way The Mother had instructed her too.

 

“Only love will save him.” Lydia came back to this over and over again, trying to make sense of it. She loved Stiles, of course she did. He was her best friend, despite having never met.

 

_“Are you in love with him?”_ the thought came unbidden to her mind more than once. And sometimes, when The Mother came to visit her, she would ask the same question when Lydia would voice her doubts and concerns. 15 years of wondering why she could not save the boy.

 

She finally found her answer to the question the night before Khalkaroth beckoned her to Beacon Hills.

 

_____

 

 

“Mother nothing I do is working. He won’t relinquish his connection.”

 

“Lydia child, do you love him?” The Mother asked, gently.

 

“Of course I do. He’s my best friend.”

 

“That’s it? He’s just your best friend? Does he mean so little to you?” The Mother asked, not unkindly, but with surprise lacing her voice.

 

“I don’t understand…” Lydia said with trepidation.

 

“You visit this boy every night, and spend time with him in his head. You have dedicated 10 years of your life to a cause most would’ve given up long ago. You know him better than anyone save for one other, his best friend Scott. You trust him. So, I will ask again, do you love him?”

 

“Are you asking me if I am in love with him?”

 

“Do you think that would be enough?”

 

Lydia was frustrated. That question held no relevance. It didn’t make any sense. Unless….

 

“Only love can save him.”

 

“You’re talking about unconditional love.”

 

“I am.”

 

“How could you possibly expect me to love him unconditionally? That isn’t a human concept. Humans do not love unconditionally,” Lydia argued.

 

“The love of a parent towards a child, that is unconditional love, no?” Lydia saw the trap, and took the bait anyway.

 

“Absolutely not! Parents don’t love their children without condition. Parents live through their children. Parents use their children. Parents exploit the fact that children have a clean slate, and then force them into a life that they wanted to have. And parents have no regard to the scars that they inflict on their children. So no, there is no such thing as unconditional love,” Lydia heard her voice wavering, but kept strong anyway.

 

“There is your problem. Until you learn what it means to love someone without conditions, until you learn that unconditional love does exist, you will never save Stiles,” The Mother said gently.

 

The tears that Lydia was desperately trying to hold back, now fell freely. What The Mother asked was impossible. How could she ever love unconditionally when she didn’t really believe in it? How could she love someone without reservations when all she had been taught as a child was how to have them? How could she save a boy with love, when she didn’t know how to love anyone, not even herself?

 

“Mother I-I can’t. I’m sorry, but I cannot love him unconditionally,” Lydia all but sobbed.

 

“Then you shall never save him. You must prepare your goodbyes, for he will not live much longer.”

 

“No! Can’t you save him?! How can you be so cruel?” She cried. She didn’t understand why this burden rested on her, and her alone. She couldn’t understand why Sophia, an Archangel, could not save one boy all on her own.

 

“I am not cruel Lydia,” The Mother, chided.

 

“You are! You won’t save him! You ask too much and give too little in return!” Lydia knew she crossed a line even as she said the words.

 

“You will not question me, Lydia. I have given you all the tools. I have shown you the way. You must face your fear. Do not put blame on me for the short comings you have instilled in yourself,” The Mother said, a deadly seriousness to her voice.

 

Lydia remained quiet for a moment, trying to regain control of her emotions. “I’m sorry, Mother. I will not question you again,” Lydia said in monotone. She was frustrated. Her pleas always falling on deaf ears, taught Lydia how to say what those above her wanted to hear.

 

“You remember our agreement, Lydia?”

 

“You would give me an out if I asked for one.”

 

“Yes. Do you wish that?”

 

“No. No I don’t. I want to save Stiles,” she said vehemently.

 

“Then you will. You will learn, Lydia. Let him teach you how to love, for that boy has more in his heart than you would expect.”

 

With that, The Mother was gone, and Lydia was alone.

 

She cried.

 

 

_____

 

 

Now she’s sitting on a plane flying to a state she’s never been to, to a town that houses the boy she loves, and the demon that holds domain over him.

 

She loves him. She knows she does. She had fallen in love with Stiles somewhere along the way, and if asked, she could not tell you when it had happened. It was as easy as breathing, and twice as rewarding.

 

_“Let him teach you how to love.”_

 

“But I already love him,” she thought to herself. But she knew what The Mother meant. She meant unconditionally. Somewhere in her heart of hearts, she knew Stiles loved her in a way no other human ever had, or ever would.

 

Which is why, despite her trepidation, and the overhanging fear, she was on a plane to go save the boy she had fallen in love with. The boy she knew she would not find. Stiles was not Stiles any longer. Khalkaroth had discovered her, and their secret meetings. She knew it. She felt the shift, the difference, the alien nature of the Stiles that came to visit her dreams last night. But she was desperate to save him, and she would not let fear deter her.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave comments and kudos y'all. It gives me motivation!

**Author's Note:**

> Come follow or talk to me on tumblr at impvlsivee, especially since Teen Wolf is over. We could all use a good cry.
> 
> ((:


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